


Live This Life

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-11
Updated: 2007-06-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunset in Utah is a hell of a thing.  AHBL coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live This Life

They spend the rest of the night in the graveyard, patching up their wounds and trying to fix the breaks in the devil's trap. Sam digs a hole six feet deep that he refuses to call a grave; Dean burns the demon's body and mixes the ashes with salt. They scrape the foul-smelling mess into a small iron box and bury it without speaking.

Sam doesn't know how to feel. He thinks there should be some kind of difference, some internal acknowledgement that their job is done. Instead, he feels tired and kind of hollow, especially when he looks at Dean. Mom's still gone; Jess is still gone; Dad's gone God knows where. It's still just him and Dean, just like always. Nothing's changed.

Dean looks over at him then and grins, wide and bright. Sam's chest goes tight, and he can't help but grin back.

Yeah, okay. Maybe some things have changed.

"Where you boys headed?" Bobby asks after they've stowed their gear in the trunk. He and Ellen are leaning against Bobby's truck, exhaustion showing clear in slumped shoulders and drawn-out speech.

"No idea," Dean replies. He closes the trunk and circles around to the driver's side. "Across the state line, I guess; then I wanna find a motel and sleep for a week."

"You both look like you could use it," Ellen agreed. She jerked her head toward Bobby. "I'll be at Bobby's for a while if you need me."

"Bobby, you dog." Dean whistles, and Ellen rolls her eyes. Sam stifles a grin when Bobby flushes bright red.

"Shut up," Bobby mutters. He aims a narrow look at Dean that Sam can't decipher. "Don't mess around for too long, you hear? There ain't so many hunters left we can afford to have you two out of commission. Time's short, Dean."

"I hear you." Bobby starts to reply, and Dean interrupts him. "I said I hear you, Bobby. We'll be in touch."

His tone is final, full of don't-fuck-with-me authority. Sam's never heard Dean sound quite like that before; he sounds like Dad, instead of _trying_ to sound like Dad. Clearly, the same thing occurs to Bobby; he backs down fast, with a worried look in Sam's direction.

"Okay," Sam says to diffuse the sudden tension. "Guess we'll be seeing you."

"Look after yourselves," Ellen says. She makes a movement in Dean's direction, but stops short when Dean straightens up and yanks open the car door.

"Watch your backs," Dean replies, and slides behind the wheel without another glance. He leans over toward Sam and yells through the open window, "Sam! You comin' or what?"

"Keep your shirt on," Sam retorts, and smiles at Ellen and Bobby. "We'll call you in a couple days."

He slumps into the passenger seat, wincing as the wound on his back makes contact. Dean peels out of the graveyard as though they're being chased, the brazen sound of Quiet Riot filling the cold night air.

 

* * *

 

Dean's so tired he's practically drooping over the wheel, but he won't let Sam drive.

"You have a head injury, Dean," Sam tries to argue.

"I'm fine." Dean's hands tighten on the wheel. "You ought to be the one resting, Sammy, not me."

"Head wound trumps back pain, Dean."

"Which one of us is newly risen from the dead here?" Dean shoots back, and Sam snaps his mouth closed in a hurry. "Exactly. Now shut up and go to sleep while I get us the hell out of Wyoming."

Sam doesn't have a reply to that, so he does as he's told. The atmosphere in the car is too fraught with unspoken words, though; he doesn't really sleep, just leans against the door and watches the Impala's headlights cut through the midnight gloom. He keeps catching Dean looking at him, an odd softness in his eyes.

"Dude, what?" Sam says finally, after an hour or so. "I got something on my face?"

"Nothing. Shut up. Go to sleep," Dean answers, his gaze flicking back to the road. Sam stares at him for a minute, frowning, until a flush of red creeps over the back of Dean's neck up to his ears.

"You are so weird," Sam mutters, and shifts around, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep.

He sees Dean smile again, that same wide-open grin as in the graveyard.

"Yeah," Dean says softly, and Sam's stomach flips.

 

* * *

 

Sunset in Utah is a hell of a thing.

They're in Farmington, north of Salt Lake City off US-89. It's like a hundred towns they've seen before, except for the gleaming expanse of shimmering water to the west. Dean drives out to the shore of the lake as twilight descends around them. It's deserted; the only sounds are the cries of seagulls and the lapping of water on the empty beach.

Sam joins Dean on the hood of the car, parked squarely west to catch the full impact of the sunset. Their shoulders brush together as they lean back against the windshield. Sam doesn't move away.

They don't speak, watching the sky turn purple and red and gold. Sam can feel Dean breathing, the slight movements of his chest expanding and contracting. He thinks about being dead, seeing Dean dying. He thinks about deals and promises and desperation. He thinks about being alone.

The sun dips behind the horizon, taking with it light and colour. Darkness swirls in to take its place, cool and soothing instead of threatening, and Sam feels something come to life inside him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean's voice is barely a whisper.

"I get it, you know. I'm not mad."

There's a pause; he can almost hear Dean's smile.

"I know."

He waits for Dean to move first, one warm hand smoothing over Sam's stomach to rest just under his heart. They don't look at each other. Dean doesn't say anything else.

After a moment, Sam puts his hand over Dean's and laces their fingers together, and Dean's sigh is all he needs to hear.

END


End file.
